Synthesis - James Swallow [132]
“What data?” Tuvok looked up at the brass cog as the platform rumbled to a halt, just short of the lip of the vent shaft.
The shimmering wave effect of the shear slip dissipated, and the black sky returned, but this time, there were darting shapes all around and close by the baleful crimson orb of the Demon-class world.
With effort, Dakal was pointing at one of the vessels. “I think I see the Titan,” he muttered.
Zero-Three continued. “The streams of knowledge are split and broken broken broken, but this is all I have to offer from my quest against the Null. It may have value to you, organic.”
“Thank you. But now, can you help us contact our ship?”
“My communication system was cut from me on exile. But I will enable you to make your own voices heard. And listen…”
Pava glanced at her tricorder. “The interference levels are dropping.”
Dakal was still pointing into the sky, using his uninjured limb. “What—what is that?” The question was breathy and flat. “The lights?”
Tuvok looked up. Curious. The ensign was indicating an unusual sparkling nimbus drifting just beyond the perimeter of the fading shear effect.
The cog cranked around and clattered angrily. “Negative,” said Zero-Three, the machine-mind’s voice hissing and heavy with feedback. “Negative. Negative negative negative negative too soon too soon too soon too soon too soon too soon too soon—”
Something formless and burning bright punched out through the luminal edge of the radiant haze and came streaming down toward them, fat sparks ejecting from the length of it as it fell.
“Take cover!” Tuvok bellowed, shoving Sethe into the lee of the console.
The long, ropy spear of Null matter slammed into the surface of FirstGen Zero-Three and ripped it open, the tortured shriek of rent metal resonating through the whisperthin air.
• • •
“Multiple spatial rifts forming, all around us!” Lavena called out from the conn.
“Null matter incursions everywhere.” Melora’s face was set hard. “Ranul, this is it. The big one. Readings are topping off the scale!”
Kuu’iut read off his own report. “The Sentry ships are breaking formation, trying to get some distance. Confirming science officer’s scans, we have unidentified protomatter structures forming in all quadrants.” The Betelgeusian hesitated. “Ready to load tricobalt weapons on your command, sir.”
The security officer didn’t answer the implied question. “Aili, keep us clear of those rifts. Try to get out of range.” Keru took a step toward her.
“I’m working on it, but there’s a swarm of them out there!” On the main screen, lashes of magma-hot exotic matter spun and flashed. As the Trill watched, a pair of glowing rods bored in and lanced through the hull of a disc-shaped Sentry shipframe, shredding it and moving on.
An indicator flickered on Rager’s console. “What?” She blinked. “Right now?” The lieutenant looked over her shoulder. “We’re being hailed. Starfleet communications protocols.”
In among all of the shock and horror, Keru felt a brief moment of relief. “Commander Tuvok?”
“Can’t be sure, it’s just a carrier-wave signal from the surface of the moon thing.”
“Scanning,” said Melora. “Triangulating. I read four life signs, but the signals are weak.”
“It’s got to be the Holiday crew. Pipe it down to Radowski. Tell him to reel them in while we still have a chance!”
• • •
The iron decking beneath Zurin’s boots twisted and fell away as he threw himself forward, propelled toward the others by Pava’s firm hand at his back. Fire and destruction seemed to wreath the entire sky above them, with great ragged gaps in the blackness yawning wide to spew streams of blazing alien energy. Heat washed over and beat the Cardassian down—not the pleasing, tingling warmth he enjoyed but a burning brutal fist that forced stress-tainted air from his lungs. Pain filled every corner of him, and it was a monumental effort just to rise a little, using his good arm to lift himself. Once again, Pava was there, her pale blue face